Take Me To Church
by yelloweyedknightmare
Summary: This is what happens when common tropes get a bit out of hand.


Crack FIC - Take Me To Church

It was just a quick romp in the dusty hayloft of his sex life. That's all it was.

So why did it feel so - so - /different/?

They'd met at a bar down in Falls Church. The Mad Fox was just down there by the metro, and Dean always went there for a quick beer and a delicious onion burger.

There weren't too many free gay men in the DC area. Most were straight, or already had partners. But from the moment this guy made eye contact with him from the other side of the bar, he thought, /his badonkadonk is mine./

He was uncommonly pretty, with eyes the color of extremely hypothermic skin and hair the color of a dead spider. The man's eyes were focused on him, the clammy color of dead skin boring into his soul.

And damn, that was the ticket.

He slid over to his, flashing his trademark Winchester grimace wink. "So, how're you doin'?"

"I believe I am doing fine, thank you."

the man said. Wow, the way he spoke like a 19th century thesaurus was really attractive.

He flagged down the waitress, winking and grimacing again. "Two Makers Mark on the rocks, please?"

The waitress gave him a strange look. "Be right there." she said, scurrying off like a mouse down a castle corridor.

"What's your name, hot dish?" he asked him, a crackly wildfire timbre in his voice.

"My name is Castiel." he said abionically.

"My name's Dean, cucumber." he moaned lowly. "So, what d'you say to getting out of here?"

"Since you ordered me a fresh firewater, I think I'd like to stay and collect." Castiel said stiffly. "I'm not one to turn down free food."

Dean sighed loudly enough to alert the entire restaurant to his horrendous plight of not being able to get his meat stick up Cas' ham flower /right that fucking second./

"So, you got any family Cas?" he asked.

"What did you just call me?" Castiel asked, his head quirking 180 degrees until it was pointing towards the floor.

"I called you Cas. It seemed to fit you." Dean gruffed gruffly.

"Wow. I am literally so surprised. No one has thought to call me Cas before. No one at all. I have never heard that nickname used about me. That is very surprising to me for you to use that nickname. It is perfect in every way possible." Castiel said, astonished that this /Dean/ would care enough about him to give him a literally perfect nickname. His jaw dropped towards the floor, his jawbone resting on the chestnut floorboards in shock that someone would care about him so.

"And yes, I have family. I've got 32 brothers and 26 sisters." Castiel (Cas! he reminded himself in his head) grumbled.

Dean whistled. "That's a lot of siblings. What are their names?"

"Heck if I can even remember them all. I might have left a few off." Castiel said. "My parents were Catholic, and obviously pushed me out do the house and disowned me for being gay rather than accepting me for the son I am."

"Wow, I can sympathize." Dean said. "My dad hit me for being bi. He said that I was a failure to him. And I obviously have no trouble sharing this in public with a random stranger I just met in a bar."

"Neither do I." Castiel said. "I feel totally comfortable talking about my past traumatic life experiences with some 30+ federal agent that could be stalking me. This is such a great idea. Wow."

"We should go hook up." he said, voice low as his self-esteem and as full of smoke as a forest fire that Smokey the Bear couldn't put out.

"Yes. Sure. I would love to have the sex. Wow. Absolutely. Fun. Great." Castiel said.

Suddenly, Dean pushed him up against the wall outside of the pub.

"I can't wait to take you, here and now." he growled, tearing up his vocal cords.

Cas's voice pitched up higher than Ariana Grande's riff at the end of Problem. "Take me with your tube steak. Impale me upon your kielbasa. Let me sink down on your anaconda."

Dean ripped off Castiel's shirt, sending the ripped and scattered fabric floating down to the street below. Cas was now shirtless and sweaty in the middle of a busy sidewalk, and he was harder than Teddy Roosevelt's face up upon Mount Rushmore.

"Take me to your bed." Cas whimpered into Dean's shoulders. "Flop me down upon your disco stick. I want to feel your Russell the love muscle inside of my chocolate starfish. Please."

Suddenly magically they were in Dean's apartment on 23rd street, naked, on his bed.

Cas gasped at the cold air on his prison purse. Dean did the same, except the air was going across his pocket rocket.

Dean's steamin' semen roadway was nudging, suddenly, at his growler.

He let in Dean's hockey cocky, gasping at the burn and stretch, because he was painfully unaware that his back door didn't self-lubricate.

"God, you're tighter than the rooms in a Chinese apartment complex!" Dean yelled.

Dean began to pound into him with his zucchini, making sure his fudge flume felt every twist and turn. He pounded into him so hard that the bed frame began to shake, and shake, until it eventually broke into a cascade of pieces of metal.

Dean just kept up pace, even as they lay on his broken bedframe. The bedframe caused no distress at all.

Castiel and Dean began to shout, yelling so loud through their climaxes that the entire town heard them. The entire. Damn. Town. Every one heard them. No exceptions.

Not even for poor old Mrs. McClean, who was about to die of shame in her little old rocking chair, petting her little white cat with eyes that totally didn't match Castiel's at all. No. Totally not.

As they reached their climax, they only began to pound harder. And this didn't hurt Castiel at all. Because assholes are totally self-lubricating. And need no stretching.

"Oh - oh yaaassss - pound in your meat Popsicle - yeet - just like that -"

"Mmmm - oh, oh yess - your peanut butter is stirring quite nicely - ah! -"

They both approached their orgasms quickly, despite only actually fucking for about 45 seconds. Thick ropes of Castiel's love shot out all over his chest, and Dean's chest, and the broken bed frame, and actually just everywhere. The room was covered in Castiel's baby gravy. It was everywhere. The room, which had been previously painted a deep emerald green, perfectly matching Dean's eyes, was now a creamy white.

Dean had his own shot of trouser juice only a millisecond later, ropes of his pearl strings flooding Cas's puckered starfish. They'd had unprotected sex, obviously, without checking if the other is clean. What a smart decision.

When Dean pulled out shortly after, floods of his own splooge came rushing out of Cas's spent back end.

As they cuddled together, the room covered in cum, with dozens of noise complaints filed against them, and no clothes at all, because that's totally smart and practical, Dean couldn't help but think, /Damn, I love him./


End file.
